


Living Impaired

by TrashcanGod



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Character Death, Ghost Stiles Stilinski, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashcanGod/pseuds/TrashcanGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is dead. Actually, no. He hates that term; sounds too final. Let's rephrase that.</p><p>Stiles Stilinski is a ghost. He feels exactly the same as a living person, but no one can see him. Well, no one he's met yet. He just hasn't met the Pack.</p><p>(An AU in which Stiles lived and died before the others. No werewolves, either; everyone is a normal teen in high school, and the only supernatural thing in Beacon Hills is Stiles. That's a first. )</p><p>(Temporarily discontinued; may be picked up again at a later date.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Dead

Stiles died in 1995 at age 17, exactly six years after his mother's passing, right down to the minute. Some say the timing was deliberate... Actually, no one says that. No one really says anything about the late Stiles Stilinski; he had no friends, only his dad, who pretty much shut up about anything family-related after both his son and wife died. Understandable, especially since he doesn't even know that his son is still in the house with him.

When he found himself standing in his bedroom a couple of weeks after his untimely demise, Stiles was confused as all hell. He had died, right? But there he was, standing in the middle of his room that looked exactly like he left it. He figured everything out when he tried speaking to his dad, who just kept staring at the family photo in his hands with tired eyes.

Sheriff Stilinski doesn't have the heart to change his son's room in any way, besides the occasional vacuuming. Even some 17-odd years later, the room is exactly the same. That's just fine with Stiles, though; he still has to sleep for some reason (isn't ghost-hood supposed to relieve you of all the human necessities?), and he really can't sleep without his pillow.

He can still eat too, and while he doesn't have to, he enjoys the activity. It isn't too hard to grab a cookie or a handful of grapes from the kitchen every once and a while, since his father had immersed himself in his work to the point where he's rarely home. Stiles used to leave the house and steal small stuff from an unsuspecting supermarket, but it turns out that if he tried to tuck a bag of chips into his jacket, people just saw some floating Fritos. That didn't really go over well. He decided to stick to stealing from his father.

It is a Tuesday morning in Spring when Stiles decides to venture outside again, for the first time in who knows how long.

“Bye, Dad,” the forever-17-year-old's voice calls out, just to remain unheard. “Have fun at work.” Stiles really thinks the man should retire already. He's graying now, his age and the stress of the job catching up with him, and he just really deserves a break. Not that Stiles can really tell him that.

After the light blue Jeep (which he really wishes he could drive) disappears into the distance, Stiles gets to work.

“Cookie for the road...” he murmurs to himself as he stuffs the chocolate chip snack into this mouth. “Game plan: go to the high school and don't touch anything if anyone is looking.” Yeah, Stiles may have picked up the habit of talking to himself. Can you blame him? He's gotta talk to someone, and he doesn't happen to know any mediums in the area.

Stiles ends up having to leave the front door unlocked, since he can't exactly carry a key with him. Maybe his father will take it as a sign of him going senile and get the hint that he should think about retirement... Doubtful. Besides, he'd probably get home first anyway.

It's a bit of a long walk to the school, but it's not like he could get tired. He's already dead, after all. By the time he gets there, lunch is almost over. Fine with him, lets him get a good look at some of the students.

"I remember when I was seventeen," Stiles sighs in a mockingly nostalgic voice. Technically, he’s still seventeen, but on the other hand, he’s existed for about 34 years. Age gets complicated when you’re dead.

He plops down in a seat next to a bored-looking student picking at his food. “Whatcha eatin’? Chicken sandwich? Looks good, I haven’t had one of those in forever. I think I’ll steal one from the kitchen when everyone’s gone.” The kid continues to pick at the sandwich in disinterest. “I’d take yours, since you don’t look like you’re gonna eat it, but I don’t think you’d like to see your chicken floating away.”

He thinks for a moment, then blows a puff of air on the boy’s neck. The student visibly shivers, then looks around with a startled look. Stiles snorts, then takes a deep breath to blow cold air into the kid’s ear, causing the student to swat at nothingness. He practically falls off the chair laughing, but manages to catch himself.

By grabbing onto the boy’s shoulder.

Shit.

Before the guy can get suspicious, the bell rings to signal the end of lunch. Stiles lets out a breath of relief. “Saved by the bell…”

Someone at the other end of the cafeteria calls out to the terrorized student (apparently his name is Danny), and Stiles climbs up and sits on the now empty table as students hurry out of the cafeteria.

"Have fun in class!" he calls out to no one in particular. He points at a tall-ish, good-looking boy with a slightly uneven jaw and says, "Don’t you fail any tests now, ya hear?"

Stiles practically yelps when the guy spins around, almost as if he heard that comment. The student doesn’t seem to spot him though, and just keeps walking. Stiles doesn’t know whether he should be disappointed or relieved. He's kind of both.

While the students are in class, Stiles roams the hallways. The school has changed a bit since when he went there, but that’s not all that surprising. It was a while back, after all.

He decides that the kitchen is probably safe to raid now, so he quickly makes his way there. Well, not so quickly. He may or may not have gotten lost a couple of times.

"Why is this place so big?" Stiles grumbles after finally finding the cafeteria again.

Sure enough, the kitchen is empty allowing the ghost boy to not-so-subtly nab a sandwich and stuff it in his mouth. He regrets that decision.

"Oh, god!!" he yells with a face contorted with disgust as he spits the "food" into a trashcan. He had really forgotten how bad school food is. "Jesus Christ, that’s disgusting. No wonder Danny didn’t eat it…" He drops the rest of the sandwich into the bin and grabs a bottle of water, which he quickly empties.

When he leaves the cafeteria, the final bell rings. Stiles carefully maneuvers around the halls, managing not to bump into anyone along the way, and soon finds himself in the locker room. The lacrosse team is gathered there, listening to their coach ramble about something.

"Lacrosse, really? What kinda school sport is that?" Stiles whispers to himself. It was basketball when he attended high school. He was actually on the team, but he was a bench warmer most of the time. He only got to play in one game before he… you know.

There’s a small group of guys standing in the corner. Stiles can see their jerseys: McCall, Hale, Lahey, Boyd. He recognizes McCall to be the guy he yelled at during lunch. He also notices that Hale looks older than the others. Not in a bad way, the guy is still hot. Must be a senior.

There are two more guys standing slightly off from the others. but they’re still noticeably part of the group. One of them is Danny, whose last name is Mahealani, and the other one has a jersey that says Whittemore and a face that just screams Abercrombie & Fitch.

Stiles is startled out of his thoughts when he hears the eccentric coach yell, “Dammit, Greenberg! Everyone, just get on the field!”

Stiles decides to follow the team and watch. He has no clue how lacrosse is played, but he’s willing to learn. He settles on the bleachers, on the opposite side as a group of pretty girls who are also watching. He follows their stares to see that they’re watching various members of the group he spotted earlier. They must be their girlfriends or something.

He watches for a while before getting super bored and deciding to leave, then stands and turns around to walk away. Before he gets too far, he hears Coach blow his whistle and yell angrily.

"McCall, stop getting distracted!"

When Stiles turns around to look at the field again, he swears to god that McCall is looking straight at him.


	2. Agent 024: "Stilinski... Stiles Stilinski."

Stiles gets home long before his dad, as he expected, after bolting from the lacrosse field. He locks the door behind him and makes his way to his room.

“I swear that guy was looking at me,” he says to himself. “I swear, he was looking _straight at me!_ Like, into my soul. Wait, do I even have a soul anymore? Or am I _just_ a soul? Agh, I don't know but it doesn't matter because some kid totally saw me! What the hell am I supposed to do with this...”

At some point during his rant, Stiles had started pacing, but he comes to an abrupt stop. He knows exactly what to do; he's going to school again tomorrow.  
  


Just like yesterday, Stiles sneaks out of the house after his father. He runs as fast as he possibly can, rather than take his time like the day before. After all, he needs to keep an eye on that McCall dude, and that's hard to do when you get there when the school day's almost over.

He arrives at the school right after second period, but then comes across a small obstacle.

“Wait. What class is this guy in?” Okay, a pretty big obstacle.

Stiles, however, is completely prepared for this, being the self-proclaimed Bond level spy that he is. It's time to snoop.

And by snoop, he means just run past every classroom until he finds his target. It turns out that running past practically every door in the school takes forever, but he manages to find McCall by the time the bell rings.

“Gotcha,” Stiles murmurs as he quickly transitions to a regular walking speed. The student is leaving the classroom with one of the girls who had been sitting on the bleachers during the practice that Stiles spectated, a girl with bouncy brown hair and pale skin. (Really, you'd think the girl never saw sunlight.)

Stiles makes sure to stay at least twelve steps behind McCall at all times. “Okay, we gotta remember that this guy can see me. Well, _might_ be able to see me. That means I gotta walk and talk and act like a normal student, and not draw any attention to myself... Actually, I should probably just stop talking all together right now. Yup, just gonna shut up.” Starting now.

He follows the pair of students until they stop next to another classroom. He takes the moment to pretend he's messing with a locker, but keeps his eye on McCall, who kisses his girlfriend's cheek (well, Stiles kind of assumes that's his girlfriend) before continuing on his way, unknowing of the ghost trailing behind him.

McCall casually makes his way to a desk in another classroom, and Stiles sneaks his way to the back of the room while his target digs through his backpack. Yeah, calling the guy a target sounds a little extreme, and might kind of make it sound like Stiles is playing secret agent with this, but he isn't. He's totally serious. Really.

Stiles makes himself comfortable out of McCall's sight as more and more students pile in. Turns out that the seat in the very back corner is empty, so he decides to sit there. Not that he's tired and needs to sit or anything, he just figures that if that guy decides to look back for whatever reason, he might not think too much of someone sitting at a desk. A deathly pale, unfamiliar-looking kid standing in the back like a creeper might cause some unwanted, but not unwarranted, attention.

Right after the bell rings, the door slams shut behind the teacher, and Stiles nearly slams his head into the desk.

“Alright you bunch of morons, let's get this torture session over with!” It's the weird coach from the lacrosse team. Fantastic.

Stiles is unable to suppress a quiet groan. “He's a teacher, too? Seriously? Who gave this guy a degree?"

Turns out that McCall has pretty damn good hearing, and looks back in Stiles' direction, making him freeze and hold his breath. Thankfully, the student quickly turns his attention back to the Coach with a confused look, probably wondering how that kid got away with that. Stiles lets out the breath when he shrugs it off.

He doesn't forget about it, though, and the student next to him notices. Stiles thinks that his name is Lahey... That's what the guy's jersey said yesterday, right?

“Scott,” the student whispers. When that doesn't work, Lahey hits his friend's arm and hisses, “Scott!”

McCall, whose first name is now known to be Scott, shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

_You look like you saw a ghost,_ Stiles thinks with a silent snicker.

Scott nods. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just...” _Don't mention the kid in the back, don't even hint at the kid in the back, c'mon Scotty-boy, I'm counting on you here._ “Do we have a new student?” _Damn it._

Lahey furrows his eyebrows in thought. “I don't think so... You sure you're okay?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just need some more sleep, I guess.”

Isaac smirks, and sarcasm drips from his voice. “You want me to tuck you in tonight?”

“No.”

“Warm milk?”

“Isaac, shut up.”

“I can give you a massage-”

“McCall, Lahey!” Sadly, the teacher/coach interrupts the bickering that Stiles was finding quite entertaining.

Both boys sink down into their seats. “Sorry Coach...”

Soon enough, Stiles has absolutely no clue what the teacher is even talking about anymore (no Adderall in the afterlife), so he decides to have some fun with his ghosty invisibility. The kid beside him is asleep, so he leans over and grabs a pen off his desk, aims, and fires straight at Coach Finstock.

“The hell?!”

Turns out Stiles has incredibly good aim. The teacher's outburst wakes up the unfortunate pen owner, who is immediately attacked.

“Who did this?! Greenberg, I swear to God!”

“But I didn't-”

“Your name is on the damn pen!”

“Wait, my pen is...” Not there anymore, sucker. “But I-”

“Is there a reason you try to make my life a living hell?”

Stiles nearly falls out of his chair laughing. High school is the best.

 

Around twenty minutes later, the bell rings, and Stiles follows Scott (and Isaac) out of that room and to the next. He goes on like this for the rest of the morning, trying to blend in with the students and stay out of sight. Aside from a few glances out of the corner of his eye, Scott doesn't seem to notice a thing. Yeah, Stiles is definitely spy material.

“The name's Stilinski,” Stiles says to himself as he roams the empty hallways during lunch. He dramatically whips his head around to look at his reflection in the trophy case. “ _Stiles_ Stilinski.”

An amused chuckle he hears behind him nearly scares him shitless. (Or, should he say, _sheet_ less. Ahahaaa ghost humor.)

“Having fun?” Stiles turns around to see Scott McCall standing right. Fucking. There. God dammit. Maybe he isn't a good spy.

Stiles quickly collects himself and tries to speak casually, reaching back to rub the back of his neck. “Hey, uh, shouldn't you be at lunch?”

“Left early.” Scott shrugs and takes a step closer. Stiles takes a step back. “What's your excuse?”

“Same here...”

The silence is so awkward that Stiles just wants to run away. This is the first conversation he's had in seventeen years, and he's definitely a little rusty. Luckily, Scott speaks up before he can panic and say something dumb.

“So, are you new here? I haven't seen you before.”

Oh thank god he made an easy assumption. New student was easier to go with than ghost or creepy stalker. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'm from, uh... The city.” That's what they say in TV shows, right? They just say they're from the city, and no one asks.

“Oh, what city?” God dammit.

“Umm... Los Angeles.”

“Well then, welcome to Beacon Hills!” Scott casually leans back against the wall. “And I already know your name, so you don't need to introduce yourself.”

“Wait, what? How?” Oh shit, does he already know? Is it that obvious that Stiles is a dead guy?

“I saw your little performance just now, remember?” Scott gives him a dorky grin, and Stiles gapes for a second before responding.

“Right, that. I was, uh, channeling James Bond...” Wow, Stiles. How do you have conversations, again? Do you actually know how to speak to another human being?

“I could tell,” Scott laughs. “My name's McCall, by the way... _Scott_ McCall.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and attempts to suppress a smile. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Scott laughs again before continuing. “So how come none of the teachers introduced you today? Usually at least one or two will point out a new kid.”

He stays silent for a moment. “I guess they forgot?” Jesus Christ, this is going horribly. But apparently the Gods are in Stiles' favor, because the bell rings to signal the end of lunch. Saved by the bell yet again.

Scott pushes himself off the wall and gives Stiles an award winning smile. “See you later, man.” He holds a hand out to shake, and Stiles cautiously takes it, almost afraid that somehow something will go wrong and he'll go right through him. Thankfully, that doesn't happen.

When their hands touch, Scott jumps slightly. “Dude, you're freezing!”

“It, uh, it happens.” Stiles starts to back away, as people are beginning to wander into the hallway.

“Well, my mom's a nurse if you wanna get that checked out...”

At this point, he turns on his heel and starts walking. “Nah, I'm good,” he calls over his shoulder. With that, he runs to the library, leaving behind a mildly confused Scott McCall.

 

It turns out that spending hours in the library without being able to safely pick up a book is the most boring thing Stiles has ever done. Even though the room is empty besides the librarian and a couple of students, he can't risk them getting a glimpse of a floating book about technology. (Stiles missed out on some stuff, so he wouldn't turn down an opportunity to learn.) In the end, he has to resort to just sitting at a table with his head in his hands, bored out of his mind.

He takes this opportunity to ponder over what just happened. He just talked to someone. Like, _really_ talked to someone. It is now confirmed that yes, Scott can see him; yes, he can talk to him; and yes, Stiles' skin is cold as ice. Now what? Should he befriend him? Become Stiles the friendly ghost? Whatever he does, he's certainly got plenty of time to think on it. And plenty of silence...

God, libraries are quiet.

It's unnerving.

When the final period of the day rolls around, a group of four students enter the library and ask the librarian about the location of something or other. Stiles doesn't recognize any of the students accept for Scott, who gives him a nod and a smile, which Stiles returns.

Having had enough of this incredible boredom, Stiles decides to peek over the shoulders of the students, who are flipping through old year books.

“Hey, look at this!” one girl says, gaining everyone's attention. “This one has a special spread in it... 'Rest In Peace, Stiles Stilinski.'” Stiles freezes, and so does Scott.

Stiles never knew that the school put a special obituary page in the year book for him. Honestly, he's pretty touched, and no, he is not about to cry. Not over the kind message from the guidance counselor printed on the page, not over the photo of him with a bright, goofy smile that he hasn't worn in ages, and certainly not over the short message from his dad.

_I love you, son. I hope you're with your mother now._

He doesn't care if the random opening and shutting of the library doors will gain attention. Stiles is out of there.

Scott just barely catches a glimpse of him as the door slams shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't really proofread this, so sorry about any fuck ups.


	3. ♫ Stiles the Friendly Ghost, the Friendliest Ghost You Know ♫

_He knows._

Stiles races down the hall at breakneck speed, making his way to wherever he can remain undisturbed.

_He knows, he fucking knows._

He isn't quite sure why Scott knowing about his current state makes Stiles so upset, so anxious, but it does. Maybe it's because after their earlier conversation, he kind of wanted to be friends with the kid, and who the hell wants to be friends with a dead person?

_He knows I'm dead, they all do._

Maybe he's acting so worried about what Scott might think to try and divert his mind from what was in that yearbook. His father's message, specifically.

“ _I hope you're with your mother now.”_

Can ghosts cry? Or is Stiles just imagining his cheeks feeling wet?

_I'm not with Mom, Dad..._

Stiles soon finds himself crashing into the (thankfully empty) boys' locker room.

_I'm not with her. I haven't seen her since what happened in the hospital._

He sinks down against the lockers and curls in on himself.

_I'm all alone now._

He starts to hyperventilate.

_I'm alone._

Is the room getting smaller, or is it just him?

_Alone._

His breaths become shorter.

_All. Alone._

As it turns out, ghosts can have panic attacks, and Stiles is having one right now. He can't breathe; he can feel his chest constricting. He thinks he might be drowning, but that's a dumb idea, he's on land, right? It's like his lungs have just forgotten how to function and he's freaking the fuck out. Why do his lungs even need to function, he's dead, for Christ's sake, oh man, he can't breathe, his hands are numb fucking hell...

Whimpers sneak out between ragged breaths as the room seems to shrink and spin. Thoughts race through Stiles's head at breakneck speeds, but he can't latch on to any of them. Everything around him is so muffled, that he barely notices the door opening or the sound of tired panting.

“Stiles?” Footsteps come closer, but Stiles doesn't really pay attention. He's too busy trying to breathe and push away that feeling of impending doom that nags at him insistently.

He opens his eyes and takes his face out of his knees to see Scott kneeling in front of him with concern written on his face. Stiles knows that look; it was the look his dad gave him during every panic attack. The look that said that he wanted to help, _God_ he wanted to help, but he just didn't know how.

“Stiles, hey, are you okay?” Scott asks frantically. Stiles just shakes his head no. “'Course you aren't, dumb question. What's, uh, what's happening, what is this, what can I do?”

Stiles swallows and manages to speak. “Panic attack.”

Scott's face lights up with recognition. “Oh! Oh, okay. Just, ah, focus on what caused it- Wait, no don't actually focus on it, bad idea. Okay, um... Think about something else.” Stiles nods. “Think about your family!” The incredulous look that Stiles gives him tells Scott that family is a pretty sensitive subject at the moment. “Okay, no, don't think about that. Think about... Me! Think about me.”

“You?”

“Yeah. I'm the only guy so far that can see you right? So now you've got someone. You have someone to talk to and be friends with now. Doesn't that make things seem a little better?”

Stiles nods, his breathing becoming less frantic now. “You wanna be friends?”

Scott gives him that bright grin and nods. “Yeah, absolutely! Just, take some deep, even breaths, 'kay buddy? In for four counts, hold for three, out for six.” Stiles is pretty positive that Scott pulled those numbers right out of his ass, but that's okay. They'll do.

After doing the breathing exercises a few times, Stiles begins to calm down. Both guys are quiet for a moment, Stiles busy regaining his bearings, and Scott unsure of what he should say.

“Thanks,” Stiles says quietly.

Scott smiles. “No problem, man.”

“So, did you, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously and clears his throat, “did you mean what you said? About being friends and stuff...” Scott cocks his head to one side in confusion, and Stiles would be lying if he said it didn't remind him of an over-sized puppy.

“Of course, why wouldn't I mean it?”

“Because I'm... You know...” He gestures toward himself as if that somehow explains what he's trying to say. “I'm... Yeah.”

“Dead?”

His face scrunches up in disgust. “No, I hate that word. It's sounds so... final.”

“A little dead?”

“Ehh...”

“Not quite alive?”

“Hmm...”

“A body-soul amputee?”

“I think I like the sound of 'living impaired.'”

…

“I like body-soul amputee better.”

“I'm the ghost, I make the rules.”

Scott pouts for a moment, then shrugs. “Anyway, why wouldn't I want to be friends of you just because of that?” Stiles shrugs. “I mean, haven't you seen Caspar?”

“Please don't call me Stiles the Friendly Ghost.”

“Stiles the _Fiend_ ly Ghost?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Scott starts laughing, and Stiles can't help but join in. A pun and a panic attack, the beginnings of a wonderful friendship.

When the bell rings to signal the end of the day, Scott sighs and stands up off the floor, then holds his hand out to help up Stiles. “Hey, you need to be somewhere after this?”

“I'm a ghost, what do you think?”

“We should hang out. Like, at my place. I don't have practice today, and my mom usually works late, so you could come over.”

Stiles can hardly suppress an excited grin. He hasn't been to a friend's house in years, and he may or may not be a little bit excited. “Really?”

“Really.” Scott's grin is nearly as excited as Stiles's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a long time to update, sorry! Been sidetracked.


End file.
